


Four-in-Hand

by Longlongwayfromhome



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dom!Castiel, Established Relationship, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, PWP, Sub!Dean, canonverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-24 12:13:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13810956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Longlongwayfromhome/pseuds/Longlongwayfromhome
Summary: “It’s all about control,” Cas says.





	Four-in-Hand

**Author's Note:**

  * For [VioletHaze](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VioletHaze/gifts).



> _Fandom is such a weird place. Like I watched a tv show and thought “wow, these two nerds have a lot of chemistry and I’d like to dedicate a large chunk of my life to thinking about them” so I went in search of other people who also thought these two nerds had a lot of chemistry and then it turned out that a shit ton of people were talking about these two nerds having a lot of chemistry and now it’s 4 years later and we write each other porn on holidays._  
>  Source: thatravenclawbitch
> 
> This is an incredibly late team trashbrigade Christmas exchange story. I'm deciding it's a combo New Lunar Year/St. Paddy's day gift.
> 
> Janet, I adore you and you make my life better with your friendship. Here, have some porn. <3

The maroon-striped tie slips through Dean’s fingers for the third time and flutters to the motel room floor. He curses and bends, nearly hitting his head on the mirror, and picks it back up with his left hand. His right is heavily bandaged, a souvenir from the claws of a kitsune the night before. She had escaped before Cas could do much more than wing her -- the bullet sending her skittering off into the darkness. So here he is, in a crisp white shirt and boxers, fighting with a tie fresh out of the dry-cleaning bag, trying to get into his Fed suit to talk to a few more neighbours, zero in on where she might be hiding. 

The sound of his swearing brings Cas into the room. He's already dressed. Dean meets his eyes in the mirror.

“Do you need help?” Cas’s voice is amused.

“Nope. I got this.” But he doesn’t have it. And he knows Cas is well aware of this because he can see Cas’s reflection, standing there, one eyebrow raised, watching as his boyfriend gets more and more upset. Rolling his eyes, Cas walks over to Dean.

Dean’s got the tie hanging around his neck, the two ends loose as he tries to grasp the wider end in his right hand. Annoyance is making him crazy. _If he could just tie this fucking tie and get back out to do interviews._ Cas reaches for the tie, and Dean bats his hand away irritably with his uninjured hand.

Dean feels Cas catch him by the shoulders and turn him around to face him. Dean’s about to mouth off to him. He’s about to pull back and say something like _what the fuck, Cas_ , but Cas grabs both ends of the tie with his left hand and runs his right hand up them to close the loop around Dean’s throat, his fist tight up under Dean’s chin. _That_ gets Dean’s attention.

“Did you know,’ Cas says conversationally, “that the knot you use to fasten your tie is called the four-in-hand?”

“Cas, I don’t c--” 

Cas rolls his fist to one side, tightening the tie around Dean’s throat for a moment. Dean shuts up.

“A four-in-hand was a carriage drawn by a team of four horses having the reins rigged in such a way that it could be driven by a single driver,” Cas continues as if Dean hadn’t spoken. “Before the four-in-hand rigging was developed, two drivers were needed to handle four horses. With a four-in-hand, the solo driver could control all four horses by holding all the reins in one hand, thus the name. Some reports state that carriage drivers tied their reins with a four-in-hand knot, and that’s what we use today.”

“Cas..” Dean starts, but Cas silences him with a look.

“It’s all about control,” Cas says. “And control is something that you quite obviously lack at the moment.” 

Using his grip on the tie, Cas swings Dean around and walks him backwards towards the bed. Dean goes, if not willingly, at least not putting up much in the way of a fight. The anger at losing the kitsune the night before -- transformed into frustration at not being able to tie his tie due to the bandage -- is morphing into something else again. Arousal. He can feel it start to flutter in the pit of his stomach. But he’s not ready to give up his pissed-off attitude. Not yet.

Cas pushes him back so he’s sitting at the edge of the bed. Dean opens his mouth to say something, but the look in Cas’s eyes is enough that the sentence dies on his tongue.

“Hmm, it doesn’t look like you have the self-control right now to not say something stupid. Open up.” Dean looks daggers at Cas, but does as he’s told. 

Cas gags Dean with his own tie, and leans close to whisper in his ear, “You made your bed, now shut up in it,” He stands back up and looks at Dean. Dean can feel goosebumps breaking out down his arms from Cas’s impassive stare. 

“Take off your shirt.”

Dean starts to unbutton his shirt, staring defiantly back at Cas, but his gaze wavers after a minute and he ducks his head to finish unbuttoning. He can’t see Cas smile, but he can feel it. Dean can feel his arousal growing as he slides his sleeves off. He loves it when Cas takes charge like this, when he derails Dean’s frustration and short temper by taking his mind off things, channeling them into more focused pursuits. 

Cas leaves him there and crosses the room to the chair at the desk where the dry-cleaning bag is draped. He returns with two more ties: his own blue striped one, and a blue and silver Ravenclaw monstrosity of Sam’s. He’s back in a moment and stands by the bed looking down at Dean.

“Lie down. Hands over your head.”

Dean scoots up the bed and stretches out as instructed. Cas leans in, and in sure, deft motions, ties Dean’s wrists to the slats in the headboard, careful of his bandaged hand. Dean has a fleeting thought for how pissed Sam is going to be at the state of his tie when this is all over, but it’s soon driven from his head by the predatory look in Cas’s eyes as he stands back and looks at the picture Dean makes stretched out on the bed: the long line of his torso and the muscles in his arms on display, already hard in his boxers.

Cas grabs his phone and soon the opening drum and guitar of _D’Yer Maker_ start up. _Oh, that’s a bad sign, Cas doesn’t want any noises leaking through the walls to scandalize Sam. Or a good sign. Probably depends on the kind of noises he’s gonna be making._ The flutters in Dean’s stomach ramp up, shivers making their way along his arms. He pulls slightly on the bindings, but they’re secure. He’s not going anywhere.

“Colour?” Cas asks. “Nod for green, shake your head for red.”

Dean nods with perhaps more enthusiasm than he wants to show Cas. He’s half embarrassed at how eager he is for this: the bonds, the being ordered around, hell, even the music. This same playlist had been on the first time he and Cas had sex, and even though he’s listened to those songs since, like, forever, now they have an erotic association that’s really damn distracting when Robert Plant’s voice gives him a boner. Just like Pavlov’s dog. Kinda.

Cas undresses quickly tosses his clothes on the floor. He tugs Dean’s boxers off and climbs onto the bed and up over Dean’s body, looking down at Dean. Dean craves more contact, He wants to feel Cas pinning him down, to feel Cas push inside him, to struggle against both his bonds and the weight of Cas’s body. But Cas holds back, a slight smile on his face. He leans down and kisses along Dean’s jaw, ghosting his lips down his neck. Dean strains upwards. The contact isn’t enough, he wants more.

“Dean.” Cas’s voice is stern. _Oh, right. Control._ Dean relaxes as much as he can, but he’s caught up in the shiver in his bones, the heat in his belly. Cas’s mouth is hot against Dean’s throat. He’s moving down Dean’s body torturously slowly, licking over his collarbone, circling his nipple with a talented tongue. Dean moans around the tie in his mouth as Cas bites down softly and then soothes it with his tongue.

 _Black Dog_ is on now, and the combination of the guitar and the heavy beat of the drums intensifies every sensation. Cas’s lips move lower, sliding over the skin of Dean’s stomach, following the trail of golden hairs that lead south from his navel. His mouth is fever hot and now it’s the only point of contact between them, and the focus of Dean’s attention.

With little warning, he takes Dean’s cock in his mouth and sucks hard. Dean’s muscles go taut and the tie cuts painfully into his wrists. He’ll have marks when this is over, and he gives zero fucks about that. He manages to hold himself still, to not thrust up into the wet heat of Cas’s mouth, but it’s a near thing. 

Cas must be able to tell, because he pulls off and smiles at Dean and says, “Good boy.” Cas starts up again sliding his mouth up and down Dean’s cock, eliciting moans that rival the volume of the music coming from Cas’s phone. It isn’t long before the tell-tale signs are evident. Dean’s thighs tense and he feels his orgasm building from deep in his belly. 

Cas pulls off yet again. “Oh no, not yet,“ he says. “You’ll have to control yourself a bit longer.” Dean whines around the tie at the loss of Cas’s mouth, but Cas just pins him with a steady look, blue eyes dark with passion and his lower lip caught between his teeth. Dean hopes it’s not going to be too long. His thighs are shaking with the strain. 

Cas reaches over and grabs the a bottle of lube from the drawer of the table between the beds. Dean looks on in anticipation, arousal rising again as Cas pushes his legs up and apart. The first slick touch to his entrance has him groaning softly. Cas presses a finger slowly into him, and Dean tenses up slightly before willing himself to relax. When Dean begins to rock his hips slightly, chasing Cas’s finger as it slides in and out, Cas adds a second finger. 

“So good for me Dean,” Cas whispers, scissoring his fingers before thrusting deeper, twisting his fingers so that Dean can feel him graze his prostate. Dean cries out, the sound muffled by the tie, and Cas repeats the motion, over and over, before finally adding a third finger.

Finally, when Dean is writhing and moaning on the bed, Cas slicks himself up, and then he’s pushing in, slowly, so agonizingly, torturously slowly that Dean is sure he might die if Cas doesn’t get this show on the road right fucking now. Dean has been aching for this, aching for Cas to fill him completely. He can feel skin on skin, and he’s drowning in sensation. Cas sliding into him, thrusting. The opening hypnotic bars of _In the Evening_ a perfect counterpoint to the sweet friction as Cas pulls almost all the way out before sliding in again. 

Dean can hear the gasp in Cas’s breath, the slap of skin on skin as his speed increases, and the bed creaking beneath them. God help him, it’s perfect. Everything is golden and perfect and nearly too much, the pull of his bonds against his wrists, Cas above him, his face tensing into hard lines as his orgasm approaches. When Cas changes his angle, hitting his prostate with almost every stroke, Dean whines. The feeling is overwhelming. Dean tries to stop it but He can’t help it, he arches his back.

Cas looks down at him and says one word. “Yes.” Dean knows it’s permission, and that’s all it takes. Dean comes hard in the space between them, groaning, his head thrown back on the pillows. Cas speeds up, caught up in his own passion, and before Dean has even come down from his own orgasm, Cas thrusts deep and stills, and Dean can feel him empty inside him. 

Cas collapses on top of him and lies still for a long moment. Then he reaches behind Dean’s head and loosens the tie so that he can kiss him. The kiss is sweet and passionate at the same time, and all too brief for Dean as Cas pulls out and rolls off him. Dean is still trying to get his breathing under control when Cas returns with a bottle of water from the mini fridge and a warm washcloth. He lies still and lets Cas clean him off and undo the ties that have him bound to the headboard, before sitting up and drinking the welcome water. 

Cas sits down beside him and drops the washcloth over the side of the bed. He pulls Dean against him and reaches to massage one of his wrists, reddened from the tie. “Better now?” he asks. Dean stops and assesses. He’s relaxed now, mellow. The frustration that was driving his annoyance is gone, replaced by a feeling of sleepy wellbeing.

“Yeah. Better.” Dean curls against Cas and pulls him close, not wanting to pry himself away from all that warm skin.

“You’re right though, we still have some interviews to do this morning, we should get…” Cas stops halfway through his thought, staring at the floor beside the bed, and sighs heavily. Dean leans over to see what derailed him. The washcloth Cas had used to clean them up is sitting on Cas’s dress shirt on the floor, a damp patch spreading across the white fabric. 

Dean laughs and pulls Cas back down so they’re lying against the pillows. “Yeah, we’re not going anywhere soon,” he says. There’s no lack of amusement in his tone when he echoes Cas from earlier, “You made your bed, now shut up in it.” And he stops Cas’s reply with a kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to ThePamelaOracle for a great beta! You're the best.


End file.
